i n d e l i b l e
by MaussHauss
Summary: "Five times Blonde tried to make an impression on Orange, and the one time Orange actually made an impression right back." 2nd POV. Blonde/Orange. Slash.


**in·del·i·ble**  
Adjective:  
*(of ink or a pen) Making marks that cannot be removed.  
* Not able to be forgotten or removed: "his story made an indelible impression on me".

* * *

The first time Blonde made an impression on Orange, it was... well, it was a First Impression. Them things can deceive, you know, and Blonde saw no reason why he couldn't take advantage of that if everyone else was going to. Instead of taking part in the dick-waving competition most men found necessary on meeting each other, though, Blonde opted for a subtler approach.

Smile at the camera. Wave. Kiss a baby or some shit.

He wasn't putting on a show just for the green-eyed frecklefuck throwing his sneer around like it meant something, no. Blonde was a cool cat, and he liked being a cool cat, and he didn't ever want to get into any situation wherein he'd ever have to _not_ be cool. If it weren't for Eddie's sake, and it weren't for the sake of these color-coded Crayola fucks, then Blonde was putting on a calm and unruffled front for his own damn self.

The conversation broadened out over the table like spilled beer, bubbling and alcoholic.

"No man, I'm being completely sincere. _Psycho_ was only popular for its nudity and its unconventional story-telling. He killed the main bitch within the first thirty minutes!" Pink's only expressions come up argumentative, bored, or disdainful. Right then he was argumentative, eyebrows up like he couldn't fathom why another person would ever think differently. "That just didn't happen. It _doesn't_ happen."

"Yeah, but," Orange sits forward over his beer. Orange's face does a lot of things, and right now it was doing slack-jawed deduction, chin pushed forward, eyes heavy-lidded and tense in thought. "It's a cult classic. Fucking Bates motel." He's not even arguing, just leading Pink up to keep him jabbering.

Blonde finds this interesting. Orange is interesting. His face does interesting things when other peoples' faces are limited to three or four repetitive templates. Blonde used to be able to dig deeper, to get all sorts of expressions out of people by doing all sorts of... well, interesting things. People rarely gave interesting results anymore. The look on a guy's face for, say, losing his job is the same look on his face when he loses his wife.

"Say," Blonde exhales a jet of smoke through his nose. "Where'd you meet my buddy Nice Guy?" He'd had an entire childhood to get 'sincere curiosity' down to a fucking T, though he never could train his voice out of its half-sarcastic, high-noon drawl. His own brother couldn't tell the difference. (But then again, his own brother was kind of a doofus.)

Pink is on the left, and Blonde already knows how Pink got into this operation, but Orange on the right over here stares over them both skeptically. Orange sits back, forever restless, clearing his throat, eyebrows giving twin jumps as he realizes the question is for him. "Thought we can't talk about any of that."

"Hey, Eddie," Blonde counters easily, and he barely has to raise his voice. "How'd you meet this kindergartner over here, you steal his fucking candy?" He's not looking at Orange, but by the crook of his elbow the entire table knows who he means. There's chuckling.

Orange's smirk doesn't make it past his eyes, mouth pinched up in a frown. An insincere frown. Interesting.

"Shut the fuck up, Blondie," Eddie returns in good humor. "You know we can't discuss that shit."

Orange drops his frown, lets the smirk loose. White ribs him a little. Orange sneers, but he doesn't mean the 'fuck you' and Blonde can't figure it out.

Blonde casts another line. One way or another, the fishies are gonna bite.

"Just so, Orange, I guess I owe you an ap-"

Orange's smile is half obscured by the rim of the coffee mug and he's only just returned his attention back to Blonde. "Hm?" The mug goes down, the eyebrows arch, the teeth that flash in that half-question grin are sharp and imperfect and Blonde doesn't know if he wants to knock them out or suck on them. "Hey man," Orange shrugs, blinking out and away. "Don't worry about it."

Of one thing Blonde is sure; he'd made good on this whole first impression business. Nobody bleeding. Nobody crying. Orange's face could do 'begrudging amusement' ten shades of justice and more.

Very. Fucking. Interesting.


End file.
